


Pull the Trigger

by Inu_Sama



Series: HP FICS [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Fred and George Weasley, Dark Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Horcruxes, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Molly Weasley Bashing, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow To Update, Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:17:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: Another time-travel fix-it MOD thing.... you get the drill.





	1. Prologue

Harry ran as fast as his legs could carry him, leaping over ash-covered logs and dodging the gnarled fingers of long-dead trees. It was getting harder to breathe the further into the forest he went. That meant he was close. He could hear raised voices in the distance behind him and the sound of warning shots whipping through the air. He didn’t have much time, as evidenced by the slowly rising sunlight that could barely be seen over the horizon. Soon a clearing came into view. It wasn’t a natural clearing one would find in most forests but a perfectly round crater made by an atomic bomb over a decade ago. It was the first of many that rocked the very foundation of countries all over the world when muggles discovered that magic wasn’t just a fairytale. At first they had tried to coexist, made treaties and laws. Purebloods bought vacation homes in muggle London because they thought they didn’t have to hide anymore. Thought they were  _ safe _ .Typically, the muggles’ responses to this ‘invasion’ were unfriendly, and magicals were treated like pariahs in the smaller towns. 

In the bigger cities, people were less bigoted and seemed to accept this new addition to their lives. For a few tranquil years, the integration of the magical population was going smoothly. But eventually muggles realised they couldn’t steal magic for themselves or use it to solve all their problems, and things started to go downhill. Magic was something that they didn't understand, that they couldn't use so they feared and hated it instead. Harry was familiar with this from his time with the Dursleys. The witch hunts had started up for the third time in history, this time on a worldwide scale that left the magicals overwhelmed and with no hope of winning. It was neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend. The muggleborns had it the worst though, and as this feeling of fear and anger spread throughout the communities, they were the first to die. Usually at their own family’s hands. That was the beginning. The next decade would see the witch hunt turn into an all out war when the magicals realised how bad things were turning out to be.

It didn’t matter to the muggles that they were killing thousands of children when they destroyed Hogwarts. They weren’t fazed by the morality of their inhumane experiments either. They didn’t even seem to care when the fallout hurt so many of the more vulnerable members of their population, just like it had in the last witch hunts. Between that and the bombs, they managed to kill almost as many muggles as magicals, but in the end it was no contest. The muggles had more to give. They had infinitely higher numbers than the magical world and were ridiculously adaptable, constantly inventing new ways to slaughter people. ‘ _ Necessity is the mother of invention _ ’ and all that. The Ministry banned the use of most branches of magic after Voldemort’s final defeat and it left the magical population of Britain paralyzed in the face of the muggles. Only one in five witches and wizards could cast a protego; a simple shield charm Harry had learned in  _ fourth year _ . Suffice to say, they’d never had a chance against a people that could irradiate and, in only a matter of decades, destroy the entire planet.

Harry stepped out from the tree line into the charred, blackened crater. The initial blast from that bomb had burned the nearby vegetation away to nothing but a sea of ash. This was what most places looked like now, even the cities with their towering buildings and miles of concrete had been no match for the mighty Atomic Bomb and the host of other weapons the muggles had invented during the war. The radiation permeating the air had poisoned everything from plants to humans themselves. The animals that once inhabited this land had either been eaten by starving humans or couldn’t reproduce fast enough due to their dwindling numbers and eventually died out. Those that were left became mutated and violent. Harry wondered how long it would take the muggles to realise that they had not only slaughtered every magical in the world, but also sealed their own fate by killing almost every available food source. Harry hadn’t seen a deer in years now, it was only the smaller mammals like rodents that had survived thus far. Even if it was only because they had been harder to catch than deer in the beginning when most of the food stores had been depleted. 

Not that it mattered anymore, the planet itself was on its last leg. The magic the muggles so hated was the heart of the Earth, without it there was nothing left but a cold, dead husk just like its surface. That’s why, being the last magical on earth and arguably the most powerful, Harry Potter was to be a hero once again. He smiled as he remembered Hermione saying he had a ‘saving-people’ thing during their school days. If only she could see him now. There was a stab of longing in his chest when he was reminded of why he was doing this - running through the woods in the dead of night towards the last magical thread still standing. He needed to give his people one last chance, a chance to change, to  _ survive _ . Sure it might save wizarding Britain, even the whole world, but in this moment Harry just wanted his friends and loved ones back. The list of dead in his life was longer than Harry would have liked. He’d lost Hedwig, one of his first real friends, in sixth year. Ginny, his wife, had been amongst the first of Britain’s magical population to fall at the hands of the muggles. Ron came next a few years later, he had been on a raid and wasn’t watching where he was going - the stupid git - and tripped on a wire that activated a canister of poison gas that quickly and painlessly stopped his heart. 

Uncharacteristically merciful of the muggles, until it turned out that wasn’t their intention. They had just wanted a clean corpse to dissect. Harry had lost track of Luna and Neville sometime after the battle of Hogwarts, he didn’t know if they were still alive or not. Hagrid, the gentle half-giant that had introduced Harry to the Wizarding World, and many of the others were sadly lost in the rubble that had once been Hogwarts. Hermione was the last of his friends to go. After spending years by his side enduring two wars, she eventually couldn’t take anymore and begged him to AK her. Through the years Harry had gotten used to using that particular curse, but it hurt more than he could have ever imagined to use it on one of his closest friends.

But he did. She was in pain, so much pain. All Hermione had wanted was to help people, be they magical or muggle, and this was the future she was greeted with. By the end she was barely recognisable from the bright little girl with frizzy hair and big teeth he’d met when he was 11. Two great wars had turned her into a bitter, hardened shell of her former self. And now here he was, making a last ditch effort to save the world. The _cor meum_ stone. Literally called the Heart Stone, was a large runic circle made of Dragonglass - the strongest material in the magical world. Harry held the small leather satchel against his side as he jumped up onto the raised stone platform. He looked over his shoulder, hoping the confundus field would keep _them_ at bay until the ritual was done. He’d erected it as soon as he stepped out of the treeline along with an area protego, so the muggles hunting him couldn’t just shoot blindly into the clearing.   
  
He could have done more, and though it might have been funny to see them shoot each other, he needed to conserve his magic. Harry placed his wand hand on the hot surface of the dragonglass, pushing a small amount of his magic into the complicated seal engraved into the center. It was about the size of his hand, from the tip of his fingers to the cuff of his palm and formed a circle with intricately carved vines. His phoenix and holly wand had been destroyed years ago when the muggles had attempted to dissect it and it exploded, taking out the whole facility. Harry would say it served them right if it hadn’t come at the cost of something so precious to him. It forced him to become proficient with wandless casting - and it had saved his bacon many times over. But he couldn’t deny it still stung when he found himself reaching for it, only to be reminded of its absence. Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the stone accepted his magic. The center circle sunk down into a bowl shape and thin lines spiralled outwards into seven points to form a star. Seven was the most powerful of all the numbers in the magical world; something he’d learned that from Voldemort, actually. The man had told him a great many things while in that graveyard, probably because he thought that would be the last of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die.

Harry bet it would really twist old Voldie's knickers to learn that the biggest thorn in his side had outlived  _ everyone _ , when by all rights he should have died, preferably at the man’s own hands. But it seemed neither of them got what they wanted and throughout the years, Harry noticed he’d stopped aging. The same couldn’t be said for his friends and family. They changed with time, aging rapidly the more magic was snuffed out. He hadn’t been  _ looking  _ to become the Master of Death when he’d disarmed Voldemort at the battle of Hogwarts - and he still couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse - but he knew that without it, he wouldn’t have this chance to fix everything. Harry conjured a knife and sliced deep into his forearm, squeezing until the blood began flowing rapidly down his fingers. He quickly switched hands and dragged the blade through his other arm in an almost identical line. With that done he banished the blade and laid his now heavily bleeding arms on the edge of the spiral. Instantly his blood started filling the carvings and the runes started to glow a bright shade of green as it pulled his blood to the center of the circle where the bowl was.

With no time to waste, Harry began chanting. His voice was deep and the words flowed rhythmically from his lips like his blood into the runic circle. The world seemed to stop; the sounds of shouting men on the other side of his shield became muffled. The limited wildlife in this area had already disappeared when Harry arrived, scared off by the gunshots. Suddenly he was no longer bleeding out on the Dragonglass, and instead found himself being cast into blinding light. When his vision cleared, he was standing in front of a frail and sickly looking woman that glowed wanly from the inside. He took a tentative step towards her. “Excuse me, but are you alright Miss?” The woman looked up, her gaze piercing through him. It was as if she could see everything that he was, everything he could be… and everything he wasn’t. “I will be soon, thanks to you,” she said gently, her voice a cracked whisper.    
  
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?” She ignored his question in favour of laying a hand on his arm and running her thumb over the healing cut on the soft underside. “Oh, you’re much too trusting for one that has lived the kind of life you have.” The woman said gently, giving him a bitter smile. Now that he was closer, he could see a bright green thread ran from the center of his chest to hers and it pulsated with power. He was feeding her power directly from his core; the ritual was working. It also seemed to be returning the woman’s strength to her as she steadily regained a healthy pallor to her skin and she was breathing easier. Which meant that she was... Magic itself. Harry’s eyes widened when he realised just  _ who  _ he was standing in front of. When he discovered the ritual, he didn’t know what to expect, or how he would fix everything. He was just desperate to reignite the embers he could feel fading more with each passing day. He didn’t think it would be so literal, that he would meet  _ Her _ . Her voice was now tinged with amusement. “Oh, my dear Harry. I know what you seek, but neither Death nor I have the ability to grant it. Only you do.” She looked up at him with sudden mischief in her green eyes, her long hair gaining a familiar red sheen as it flowed like water over her thin shoulders and contrasting starkly with her white dress. “The ritual won't work, not in the end. You can't fix every problem by dying you know.” Then she smiled, taking the bite out of her words.

“What are you talking about, Lady Magic?” he asked with as much respect put into his voice as was possible. It echoed throughout the white misty landscape they were meeting in, which looked strangely similar to the first time he had died and ended up at a pearly white version of King’s Cross. But time was running out for him, he was already feeling weaker, colder as she drained his very essence. “You’ll see soon enough,” Her expression turned sombre as she tightened her grip on his arms and the ritual hit a crescendo. Harry gasped in pain. It was the most pain he’d ever felt, not even Voldemort’s  _ Cruciatus  _ was this strong. Harry jerked as his core was ripped from his chest in a surprisingly visceral display and fed right through their connection into hers. She gasped as well, letting go of him to clutch at her chest in pain. Harry would have fallen to the floor if it weren’t for a pair of icy cold arms that caught him just in time and gently laid him down.

He could see nothing but white light above his head until a familiar dark figure came into view. “There is something we can do.” Death proposed, not speaking to Harry but to Lady Magic, who already looked stronger. She knelt over Harry, just as Death did, the tips of her hair brushing his numb fingers that were now resting limply on his stomach. “I know; you’re right. This is the only option we have left now.” Then she turned to Harry, tears welling up in eyes so much like his own, like his mother’s. It filled him with both happiness and pain to see her looking at him with such love; not many had looked at him like that after his parents died. “I know you want peace, my darling boy. But you are the wizarding world’s only hope -  _ our  _ only hope.” Her voice broke at the end and Harry reached up a shaking, bloodied hand to wipe away the few tears that had escaped onto ivory cheeks. She chuckled, taking his hand and hugging it to her chest, where his core thrummed steadily with power in place of a heartbeat. “We don’t have much time, Mistress.” Death said wearily, looking over their shoulder at the growing storm in the distance. Soon this place would be gone and them with it if they didn’t go now.

“Yes, of course.” she said, reigning in her sniffles until they were barely audible. “My sweet boy, you’ve been through so much already.” She took a steadying breath before continuing. “But you must return, prepare our people for the inevitable war with the muggles whatever way you can.” She said fervently, nodding to Death that it was time. She leaned forward and kissed Harry’s scarred forehead, driving as much power back into him as she could so he would survive the journey in one piece. This was done while Death cleanly severed his soul from his body. It was then Harry knew true darkness. But before he went completely, he heard Lady Magic whisper something into his ear, though it was too late for him to decipher it and then he was no more.


	2. Chapter One: Wake Me up

 

 _“Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.”_ _  
_ **_― Walt Whitman_ **

“Up! Get up!” Aunt Petunia screeched from outside Harry’s cupboard like an angry bird, giving the door one last thump for good measure before her footsteps faded into the kitchen. Harry opened his eyes slowly, not fully aware yet. Light filtered in from the small slits in the door, letting Harry watch the dust motes fly around the tiny space, only influenced by his shallow breathing. When the claws of sleep receded completely, the memories hit him like a ton of bricks. He died… again. With frantic fingers, Harry felt the surface of his chest where his core was extracted. All he found was smooth skin and he sighed in relief. But then he looked around and he realised where he was. The cupboard under the stairs had been his bedroom for as long as he could remember, up until he started Hogwarts. Harry stretched his thin, small arms out in front of him. He was a child again, he was in the Dursley house….the Dursleys were _alive_. Harry sucked in a breath, choking on the dust as another memory rose to the forefront. Parts of a conversation he was barely conscious for whistled through his panicking mind like wind through a chime.

_“My sweet boy, you’ve been through so much already.” She took a steadying breath before continuing. “But you must return, prepare our people for the inevitable war with the muggles whatever way you can.”_

‘ _Right, the war…_ ’ Harry thought to himself, his panic being overcome with a sense of exhilaration. He was back; he could change everything! He only just managed to stop himself from cackling with mad glee - Petunia would go at him with the fry pan for making such a noise this early in the morning. For the first time in a long time, he was excited. He fumbled in near-darkness for the light switch. When his fingers brushed the familiar string, he pulled and the little cupboard was suddenly illuminated. It was exactly the same as he remembered it; dusty, cramped and filled with junk that mostly wasn’t his. His eyesight in his last life had cleared up when he became MOD, which seemed to be a permanent perk because he could see every hair on the tiny legs of the spiders that he shared a room with. Harry picked up his glasses, which were sitting on a beat up shoe box next to the little scrap of foam he used as bedding. He examined the bent wire frame that never sat on his head quite right after the first time Dudley had broken them.

They were nothing but an ancient relic of his past now, a novelty he didn’t need anymore. These glasses weren’t like his wand, they only represented a genetic weakness to him and nothing more. So it was with little thought that he swiftly banished them with a flick of his fingers, the action so natural that he didn’t stop to think that it might not work. He’d given his core to Lady Magic, hadn’t he? But before he could start panicking again, his magic rose up from his core and eagerly obeyed with little trouble. At this age Harry hadn’t been able to get his magic to do what he wanted, so the delay was understandable. He wished to think on it more, but Aunt Petunia would no doubt be getting antsy with how long he was taking. The house was exactly the same as he remembered it, minus photographs of a much older Dudley and the occasional signs of aging that Petunia just couldn’t get rid of no matter how much she tried. Everything seemed brighter, more alive than he originally remembered. But that could be easily explained away by the fact that he had just come from a dying planet. One that, if he had his way, would never be created in the first place. But to do that, he needed a plan.

Harry considered the task set before him as he stood in the hall, staring off into the sunlight streaming through the glass on the front door. He would need to move quick, time wasn’t on his side as every day the muggles were closer to discovering magic. He had a couple of options, the first: he could just leave right now and work in the shadows with a new identity, whip the Wizarding World into shape by tearing down Dumbledore’s work and putting forth new laws. The second: he could play the Light’s little hero and once again be forced into countless dangerous situations his whole Hogwarts career. The problem with just up and leaving is that old Dumbles wouldn’t cease looking for him - which would be a pain in the arse and could potentially stall any plans to save the wizarding world. There was a reason Tom Riddle failed when he tried the political route. Staying, though…. That would require a lot of restraint and patience, both of which he hadn’t needed to practice these last years. It would certainly be a test to his acting abilities. But a benefit to staying ‘on course’ would be that he could dismantle the Light from the inside, simultaneously sweeping the Ministry into his hands. Both options would take time and power. He would need help.

Harry internally cringed when his mind gave him the only possible person that would actually have the stomach for the kinds of things that needed to be done to ensure their people’s survival. Harry didn’t know if he was willing to enlist that kind of ‘help’ from someone so…. _unstable_. Oh, he knew about the horcruxes and what they had done to his once arch-nemesis. Before the books were burned, Harry had managed to salvage what he could and one of those tomes happened to be the one a certain Dark Lord had used to gain immortality. The texts hinted at the damaging ramifications of making more than one horcrux. There was a reason no one before him had dared do it. But the budding Dark Lord had been too arrogant to see it for what it was; a warning. Tom Riddle would have never made them if he thought that his pursuit of immortality would cost him the one thing he valued most: his mind. His hubris set in motion so many terrible events that all culminated in the destruction of their people. But Harry was determined to make his second chance count. For that, he would need to take the Headmaster down before he could do any more damage.

A sudden pain in the back of his head brought him to his knees. When he looked back, it was to see Aunt Petunia, her thin lips pursed like she was sucking on a lemon. Her brows were tilted down as she lowered the fry pan and a strange expression flickered through muddy green eyes. “What did I tell you? Get in there and make breakfast! I will NOT have you ruin my Dudder’s special day!” She hissed, brandishing the pan like a weapon. The sounds of Dudley's loud complaining drew her back into the kitchen before Harry had a chance to even blink. He held onto the hallway bench, his head throbbing. If he had been anyone else…. Harry sighed, he was just lucky nothing like that had happened to him when he was still human. But he couldn’t help but wonder, ‘ _why this time?_ ’ Was it because he took too long? Or was there something else at play here? Feeling a growing headache, Harry was tempted to leave and never come back. What he wouldn’t give to just spend his days relaxing in the Bahamas. He really didn’t want to have to go through the Dursleys again. After a moment or two of warring with himself Harry eventually sighed and followed his Aunt to do exactly what he was told.

Being the Light’s scion all over again was gonna suck.

 

_“Revenge is about retaliation; justice about restoring balance. The motive of revenge has mostly to do with expressing rage, hatred, or spite. It's a protest, or payback, and its foremost intent is to harm.”_

**_~ PsychologyToday_ **

As soon as Harry closed the boot, the Dursleys were gone. He huffed, pulling his new trunk across the cobblestone road to the station that was bustling with muggles rushing to get to work. Harry watched them through cold eyes as he passed, trying not to let the sneer overtake his features like he wanted it to. The fondness for them he’d gained from Dumbledore had thoroughly been shed along with the naive ideals everyone around him stood by. He was no longer the boy everyone expected him to be. Platform 9 and ¾ was relatively easy to find through the crowd and he simply waited for an opportunity to slip through undetected. Harry’s breath hitched when he saw the train. Its glossy red exterior made his eyes burn with unshed tears. It had been so long since he had seen it intact; nothing had been left unscathed when the muggles decided magicals were too much of a threat. So it was more than a little emotional for him to see a relic of his past looking exactly as the first time he saw it.

He hoped he didn’t outright burst into tears when he arrived at Hogwarts; that would raise some suspicion for sure. His mental stability would come into question, and it would only result in being watched all the closer. Harry came out of his thoughts when he heard a familiar voice in the crowd. “Where is that Potter boy? He was supposed to be in front of the entrance! What if the Dark get to him before we do and fill his head with nonsense?!” Mrs Weasley ranted, pushing a trolley carrying four or so trunks very close to where Harry stood. Her sons hovered behind her like reluctant ducklings, Ginny clutching the woman’s skirt as she searched the crowd. “It’s gonna be alright, mum. I’ll be sure to find him on the train and help him in the right direction.” Ron reassured, puffing out his chest when his mother agreed and patted his shoulder distractedly. The twins were oddly silent through all this and had carefully neutral expressions. Not really wanting to hear more, Harry escaped onto the train and found an empty compartment in the Slytherin end of the train, hoping to deter Ron from looking for him.

He stored his trunk and locked the door so no one could bother him. Harry made himself comfortable before allowing himself to think on what he had just heard. He was shocked by their conversation, and above all, hurt. The Weasleys had been like a second family to him and it was hard to imagine that their intentions were less than pure. But he’d heard the words from their own mouths, there was no mistaking it now. “The right direction?” Harry muttered to himself as the train started to move. Then he finally made the connection and he half wished he hadn’t. “Oh,” he whispered, feeling like a fool. A complete and utter fool. They were just _using_ him, probably on Dumbledore's orders no less. From their words, Harry could hazard a guess why they wanted to make sure he stayed away from anyone who wasn’t ‘Light’. He would be much less likely to go along with Dumbledore’s plans if he ‘knew the truth’. It wasn’t just the Weasleys, either. It was the Order, it was Hermione - everyone he had ever trusted. His mood quickly soured and Harry belatedly realised his magic had filled the compartment and was making the temperature drop several degrees.

Harry reigned his magic back in with practiced ease, having familiarised himself with it over the past month. His magic at this age was wilder, more slippery than it once was. No doubt because he was technically a different person than what the magic was used to. But in the end he managed to tame it...somewhat. As Harry thought more about what the Weasleys could mean, things started to make sense. The annual run ins with Voldemort, forcing him back to the Dursleys every year despite the way he was treated there - even the way Ron had taken every opportunity to villainize the ‘slimy snakes’ in front of Harry, held a new meaning now. He’d been played from the very beginning. By everyone, he didn’t doubt that even _Tonks_ had a role to play. Harry swallowed the curses he wanted to throw and instead tried to take deep breaths so his magic wouldn’t end up demolishing the train. When he was first introduced to this world he was so excited. Finally, a place where he belonged. Young Harry told himself it wouldn’t be like the Dursleys, he would make lots of friends and he would have fun. That was the plan, but it seemed his whole life had been nothing but the results of an old man’s manipulations.

Oh, Harry was _so_ brassed off right now. It was too bad he was finding this out hours before he was to be put in front of the conniving git; he would have liked to teach his ‘loving’ family a thing or two to blow off some steam first. But he would just have to rise above his ruddy temper and follow through with the plan. He had no choice now, they were halfway to Hogwarts already. It was clear now that he had to watch his back from more than just Quirrel this year. He’d known that Dumbledore’s influence on the Ministry was instrumental in their downfall, but he overlooked the impact the man had on his own life. Well, he was blind no longer. He felt bitter thinking so cynically, but this was his reality now. A knock on the door brought him out of his increasingly negative thoughts. Harry jumped, refusing to admit that he had made a quiet but girlish shriek. After a moment of hesitation, Harry got up and discreetly peeked through the blind using a spell that worked like a one-way mirror. On the other side nothing would have changed.

Harry was somewhat surprised to see that it was the twins on the other side of the door. They were staring straight through him with pensive expressions. Harry sighed and unlocked the door before returning to his seat. He waited anxiously for them to close the door and was intrigued when they set up a secrecy ward. Though Harry felt better knowing that whatever he said to them couldn’t be overheard, he had a feeling the twins’ silence before was indicative of something bigger. “Yes?” Harry asked politely, deciding to play dumb and see where this little chat would lead. The boys seemed momentarily stunned but quickly recovered as Fred, the more talkative of the two, cleared his throat to speak. “My brother and I thought that you should know something,” He began, looking out the window to the greenery whizzing past rather than at him. Harry simultaneously wanted them to just spit it out but also to never tell him that his suspicions were spot on. He didn’t want one of the only good things in his life to be spoiled by the horrible truth that they were never his family at all.

But he waited silently instead, trying not to fidget as George repeatedly flicked his eyes to his face to check for his reaction. Though as the silence stretched it was becoming clear he had waited for nothing when Fred changed his mind and broke into a bright smile. “We just wanted you to know that you can come talk to us if you have any trouble. I know you don’t know us, but we’re the Weasley twins Fred and George from Gryffindor. And uh… yeah…” Fred finished lamely, his cheeks taking on some colour. Harry let a small commiserating smile curl his lips in response to the awkward finish while inwardly he was kind of disappointed. He hoped to see where they stood and what they thought of their family’s plans but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen without Harry forcing the issue. He didn’t want to risk blowing his cover if it turned out the twins weren’t his allies, so he told them what they wanted to hear and waved them out of the compartment.

Alone again, Harry thought about which House would best suit his plans. Though the Hat had insisted on Slytherin the first time round, Harry knew that couldn’t happen. Dumbledore would only become suspicious and watch him more closely than if Harry went to Gryffindor, where Dumbledore would have more sway with his Housemates. But the prejudice between Houses would get in the way of finding potential followers outside of Slytherin. Harry didn’t think he could stomach sharing a room with Ron for the next seven years, so Gryffindor was out. Plus, the other houses would only see him as stubborn and stupid. That House would get him nowhere. That left Harry with Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. It was sad to say that no one would take him seriously as a ‘Puff. From his days at school the Hufflepuff portion of Hogwarts was always the last to be thought of; they were considered too soft and friendly to be a threat and so no one paid attention to them. Though it would afford him the ability to fade into the background as much as the Boy-Who-Didn’t-Die could, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen as weak to the rest of the school.

The Ravenclaws…. He hadn’t much contact with them apart from a select few like Luna and Cho. He certainly did have a predilection for learning, but it wasn’t what drove him. Only survival had mattered to Harry for a very long time and now his mind was occupied by a mixture of revenge and justice. Knowledge would unquestionably help him achieve his goals and as a Raven it would be expected of him to pursue all manner of subjects. Though Ravenclaw seemed both politically neutral and possibly the easiest access to the information he would need, he wasn’t sure he should outright dismiss the other options. Harry decided he would confer with the Sorting Hat, it would provide valuable insight if nothing else. With that settled, Harry sat back and pulled out an introductory book to the realm of Ancient Runes - a subject he was eager to take in 3rd year as it was likely to help him open up the pathways to understanding different branches of magic. He vaguely remembered Hermione telling him that back before wands were common practice, people used specific runes to focus their magic.

A person could also imbue their magic into a rune so that they had back-up reserves if they ran out in battle or during a particularly draining ritual. Harry was hoping the Hogwarts curriculum covered an extensive range of Rune uses. If not, he would have to purchase some books via owl order during the school year. For now he would focus on mastering the basics, he did have this year and next until he was able to pick his subjects after all. He would use that time to set up his base within the school. Harry needed a network, he needed loyalty, but above all he needed information. He needed to know just how far Dumbledore’s influence extended, and who he could ‘convert’ to his side of the chessboard. Harry snorted to himself, looking out at the flat green landscape of Scotland. He was talking more and more like a Dark Lord everyday. All too soon the train was slowing to a stop at Hogsmeade station.


	3. Chapter two: just children

They were all so small. It was almost hard for Harry to believe that these kids grew up to be the mighty warriors he fought both beside and against in two wars. McGonagall left them in the entrance to the Great Hall so she could, presumably, warn the other teachers the sorting would begin soon. Before she left, McGonagall gave Ron a once-over and recommended everyone take this time to ‘smarten yourselves up’. Ron looked indignant at the slight but the woman left before he could put his foot in his mouth.  _ ‘Pity’  _ Harry thought viciously. He made sure to stand at the back away from everyone as he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention. Harry knew that as soon as the sorting was done everyone would know his face, so he was soaking up the feeling of invisibility while it lasted. He did, however, have to hide behind the hulking figure of Goyle to avoid the searching eyes of Ron at one point. The bigger boy noticed and let out a quiet huff of amusement but otherwise didn’t remark on Harry’s behaviour.

He hadn’t expected that kind of response from Goyle, but he supposed they didn’t share any animosity for each other at this point. Harry always just thought of them as Malfoy’s meathead bodyguards, incapable of doing anything else. He never knew why Malfoy kept them around as all they did was stand there and occasionally grunt - from Harry’s perspective anyway. Maybe there was more to them than that and he just never seen it, given his history with Malfoy. McGonagall returned shortly after Harry’s limited but interesting exchange with Goyle and ushered them into two neat lines. He felt a surge of warmth when the giant oak doors finally opened and bright, familiar light filled his vision. It was only now  _ really  _ starting to sink in that he was here…. he was  _ home  _ for the first time in what felt like forever. Harry once again tried to hold back the emotion that clogged his throat as the cat animagus led them to the Head Table. Just like the first time, the Sorting Hat sat on a three-legged stool that must have been as old as the frayed scrap of sentient material it supported.

Once that Hall quieted down, McGonagall pulled a long roll of parchment out of thin air and turned to the first-years. Harry had to admit; he was kind of nervous. Which House would the Hat choose? Would it go with the house he decided, or would it go with the House he should have been put in in the first place? Whichever House he was put in would alter the course of history, he knew that much. It was highly unlikely he would be adorning the horrid red and gold tie this time around. He had changed too much, been through too much to ever consider himself that naive little boy ever again. “I will now call the roll, when you hear your name come and sit on the stool to be sorted.” McGonagall said briskly, immediately rattling off names. The first of which was ‘Abbott, Hannah’ until it continued down the alphabet to a more notable name; ‘Malfoy, Draco’. Harry tuned back in when he saw the blond strutt up to the aged witch like the many Peacocks in the Malfoy’s yard. The image made Harry stifle a snort. If he did end up in the snake pit, Harry couldn’t be seen making fun of the heir to one of the most influential families in the Dark sect. That would put him at a serious disadvantage in the years to come.

The Hat barely touched the boy’s head before it screeched “SLYTHERIN”. The snakes politely clapped for their new housemate, along with a few older Ravenclaws. Other than that, no one batted an eye. It was just expected by this point that the Malfoy line were Slytherins through and through. Harry wondered how the people were going to react to his sorting, especially if he got into the Snake den. Would they faint? Would  _ Dumbledore  _ faint? That would be funny, and definitely something he would love to see. He soon got the chance when his name was called a few moments later. The Hall was so silent you could hear a pin drop. The second and third years strained in their seats to get a good look at their ‘saviour’, some even going so far as to all but stand on the benches that lined each table.

Harry squared his shoulders and walked over to the stool like many had before him, and sat down. The whispers were drowned out when the Hat obscured his vision. **_‘Well, then. Let’s get started.’_** A gravelly voice surrounded Harry’s consciousness, both a comforting and wary embrace he didn’t know how to feel about. Harry resisted the urge to rip the Hat off his head, the feeling of being put under a microscope was something he hated. When he was eleven, Harry hadn’t fully understood what the Hat was doing, but now he could _feel_ it digging around in his head. It was at the very least, disconcerting, if not outright _disturbing_. **_‘Relax, little one. I’m only trying to get a feel for you.’_** The Hat reassured, particularly amused with the boy’s reluctance. It had seen all manner of minds, from the very pure to the very Darkest, from simple to complex. Nothing it saw today would be any different to what it had already experienced in its long life. Well, it was regretting those words now as it stumbled upon scenes that would haunt it for the rest of its existence. **_‘Oh, oh dear, this is terrible! I can see why you’re so antsy. You poor child.’_** It lamented, coming to the ritual Harry performed in order to save Lady Magic.

Harry could hear a sob bounce around his skull as the Hat struggled to control itself.  _ ‘So you can see why I need Ravenclaw, yes?’ _ Harry was hopeful the Hat would listen to him like it had last time. There was a sniffle and then a sort of wounded whine.  **_‘I am sorry, Favoured One. But I am duty-bound to put you in the House you most resemble.’_ ** Harry barely had enough time to register the words before the one thing he didn’t want to hear, was being shouted to the rest of the hall. With numb fingers, Harry pulled the Hat off his head and returned it to a stunned McGonagall.  _ ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit’ _ He chanted over in his mind as he cast a wary gaze over the Head table. Dumbledore looked  _ livid _ . Merlin, this was not going to plan! Harry briefly met red eyes, a sense of curiosity not his own, flittered faintly on the edge of his consciousness. He looked back to professor Quirrell in confusion. The only emotions he’d ever gotten from the Horcrux inside him had been anger or pain that was intentionally caused by Voldemort. This felt...different. Harry was horrified for a few seconds when Voldemort actually  _ winked at him _ . Winked at  _ him _ ! Harry purposefully took a bracing breath before leaving the platform and making his way to the Snake table.

Goyle preemptively made room for him next to Malfoy as the blond smiled at him in welcome. It wasn’t a showy smile, or an arrogant one, but a genuine curl of the lips that told Harry just how deep the divide between Houses went. He tentatively returned the gesture and sat down. Some of the older years sneered at him, and he couldn’t help but feel a foreign anger tapping at his mind.  _ Voldemort _ . Why would he care if the Slytherins hated the Boy-Who? Harry found himself sneering back, taking satisfaction in the way they flinched away from him. He refused to be cowed by pathetic bullies that thought intimidating a first year made them look anything other than  _ weak _ . Unbeknownst to him, Harry’s magic had encircled those sitting at the Snake table, pressuring their own cores into submission. Not all of them knew what that feeling meant, but they were Slytherins; they at least knew there was another powerful firsty to watch out for in the coming years.

The rest of the hall gathered themselves after that, coming out of the shock of the BWL being sorted into anything  _ other  _ than Gryffindor. Harry wanted to hit something. It was stupidity like this that made them vulnerable to the muggles in the first place. “By the way Dumbledore talked about you, you can’t blame everyone for thinking you would go into the House of Lions.” Theodore Nott offered, misinterpreting the source of Harry’s anger. He sighed, letting it go for the moment. It was done, there was nothing he could do about this. He would just have to adjust his plans a bit, that’s all. Harry wanted to scream. Instead he smiled at Nott, determined to at least make this major fuckup work for him. “Thanks, Nott. I guess I’m just a little disappointed. I’d thought at least  _ Wizards  _ wouldn’t succumb to the same pitfalls as their  _ muggle  _ halves.” Harry spat the word ‘muggles’ like it was the dirtiest curse word he knew and the Slytherins were torn between being impressed at the amount of venom the supposed ‘Golden Boy’ had or insulted they were being compared to the filthy rats.

Nott just looked surprised Harry knew his name. Malfoy, on the other hand, had picked up on what Harry  _ hadn’t  _ said. “You mean you didn’t grow up in the Wizarding World?” The boy was scandalised, as if the very thought was some form of barbaric torture. Harry would have laughed if he didn’t agree with him. Harry’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Yes,  _ unfortunately _ . The manipulative old coot dumped me with my magic-hating Aunt on the night of my parents’ murder.” There were collective quiet gasps as the Slytherins realised the meaning behind what the most loved young Wizard in Britain had said. “I think my father should hear of this.” Malfoy growled, looking every bit the dragon he was named after. Harry fought the urge to cackle. Seeds sown, Harry pressed his lips into a grim line as he turned back to the Head table to find the sorting was finished and Dumbledore was just getting up to make his yearly announcements. “Welcome back most of you, and a very warm congratulations to our new students!” Blue eyes twinkled in Harry’s direction and his own narrowed, his mind whirling. Was the old fool still trying to get him under his wing?

Should Harry allow it? If he was under Dumbledore’s wing, he’d have access to the man’s heart. New plans formed and Harry felt confident he could make being a Slytherin an advantage. Dumbledore smiled benevolently, like he was honored to be standing here before them. “While you were all off enjoying a well-deserved break, I must inform you of some changes this year.”  Murmurs washed through the hall like a curious wave as the student body hung on the Headmaster’s every word. “You are all forbidden from entering the third-floor corridor, on the right-hand side, unless you wish to die a horribly painful death.” He paused to let that sink in, the murmurs growing into whispers. Something like this had never happened at Hogwarts before and the students were excited and afraid in equal measures. “What do you think he’s hiding?” Malfoy wondered aloud, positioning a delicate hand under his chin as he watched the Headmaster.

Harry shrugged, not wanting to give away too many details. It would be dangerous if it somehow got back to Dumbledore. The man might not be so forgiving of his Slytherin status if it turned out the boy knew more than he should. It was already a very fragile dance Harry would need to do, in order to get close enough to do some damage. “What I want to know is why something  _ that  _ dangerous is in a  _ school _ .” Nott stressed, seemingly the only eleven year old to actually think of that. He further proved himself to be the only one with common sense when Malfoy smirked and wiggled his impeccable eyebrows. “Why? You  _ scared _ , Nott?” The boy in question growled and opened his Charms book, deciding to completely ignore the Malfoy sicon. Harry was then reminded that this was not Gryffindor. He knew that Ron definitely would have launched himself across the table to throttle the other boy for such a comment. Seeing he wouldn’t play along, the blond huffed, amused, and turned his attention back to the Headmaster. “Now, I won’t hold you too much longer - I just wanted to impart some wisdom to you all.” Here the wizened old man was none to subtle when he looked over to Harry. 

“Anyone can live through the darkest of times, if he only remembers to turn on the  _ light _ .” Harry wanted to snort at such a blatant tactic. If Harry had actually been eleven, those words might have stirred some guilt in him for being sorted into the ‘dark and evil’ House. But as it were, Harry only  _ acted  _ chastised, he might not feel it, but he needed to get close to the man so he could tear him down from the inside. Then with a dramatic wave of his hand - purely for the amazement of the first years, he was sure - all manner of dishes appeared on the tables and the Feast commenced. Harry found himself entertained by the thought of Dumbledore arranging such a display with the House Elves beforehand. Thinking back on it now, Harry really should have expected things to turn out like this. Really, when had Potter luck ever actually made things easier for him? He groaned with satisfaction as he stretched out on his new bed. The Slytherin dorm rooms were completely different to Gryffindor’s. Due to the dungeons providing more floor space, students only had to share a room with one other instead of the four Harry had previously. Which would have been a welcome change, if he hadn’t gotten  _ him  _ as a roommate. Because, just as luck would have it, his roommate for the next seven years was none other than Draco Malfoy.

The boy had been nice enough during the Feast, but Harry wasn’t really looking forward to keeping a mask on even in his own room. Still, there was nothing he could do about that. It’s not like he could just tell the boy he was from the future - even under heavy oaths, that would open up a whole new can of worms that Harry didn’t want to deal with. No, he would just have to hope the boy wasn’t as nosy as last time. Harry would prove himself to the Slytherins soon enough, he needed a solid foundation to build off, after all. With a lazy wave of his hand, the dark haired Wizard closed the curtains and rolled over to get some much needed sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo!   
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any suggestions? Maybe we could brainstorm on motivations, character reactions, plot lines? Critiques? universe lore? It keeps me motivated to keep writing as I always start of with only a vague idea of what I want - which would leave a lot up to debate!
> 
> So come! Discuss with me! I would highly appreciate it!


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